A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

He’s fucking with me.

“It was an accident,” I tell him. “You oughta lock your door if you’re going to be strutting around your room naked like that and can’t hear if someone’s knocking.”

“But then I would have never met you, would I have?”

“That was scarcely a meeting.”

“Sure, but then you never would have seen me later and felt bad enough about the whole thing to actually take me to your house to sleep off the drugs.”

“Drugs?” I repeat. God, I should have figured it was drugs.

He frowns, getting back to his feet. “Prescription drugs,” he says emphatically. “I, uh, took a pill or two I probably shouldn’t have and then had something to drink, which I most definitely shouldn’t have. The combination has been known to knock me out before. I’m not sure what I was thinking.”

He stares past me at the wall and for a moment I think he’s judging the stained and peeling wallpaper of my parent’s neglected old bedroom but then I realize he’s lost in his thoughts, his gorgeous eyes running through an array of emotions I can’t sort through.

“Well don’t worry too much about it,” I reassure him. “You weren’t much of a problem at all.”

I don’t want to tell him that I felt strangely compelled to take care of him all night. That even though our encounter previously was anything but sexual and romantic, I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Even now, with him standing here in this room, pulling on that worn, butter-soft leather jacket over those thick arms, those broad shoulders, I wish there was something I could do to make him stay longer. I’m no longer holding onto a razor blade, he no longer seems like a dangerous stranger. I actually want to get to know him because even from this brief time I can tell there’s a lot more to this man. Behind the movie star good looks, there’s a man with a story, the kind you want to pull up a chair and get lost in.

I cough awkwardly, suddenly aware of how I’ve been staring at him. “Well, Mr. Sverige, I guess I’ll take you on your way.”

“Thank you, Miss America,” he answers.

I give him a funny look. “Where are you from anyway?”

“You don’t know?” he asks.

“I couldn’t figure it out,” I tell him. Then my expression turns sheepish. “Which reminds me, I better go get your wallet.”

“My wallet?” he asks in surprise.

I point to his boots at the foot of the bed before I head out of the room. “Your boots are there. Let me just grab it.”

He starts to sit down at the end of the bed and I quickly scamper to my room to grab his wallet.

Pike reaches out to grab me just as I curl my hands around the leather and come back into the hall.

“What are you doing, Maggie?” he asks in a hush, pulling me toward him.

“I’m taking him to the hotel, chill out.” I shrug myself out of his grasp.

“I’m coming with you.”

I look him over. He’s always been protective, but this is on another level. “I’ll be fine. He’s not going to murder me.”

Not the best choice of words. They hang in the air between us.

“Don’t joke about shit like that,” he grumbles, his dark brows knit together. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’ll never be without me,” I tell him. “I promise you that. I promised mom and dad that when I agreed to be the guardian. I’m never leaving you guys, got that?”

He sighs, running his hands down his face. Then he stares at the wallet. “How much money does he have in there?” he asks quietly.

“Why?” I ask suspiciously.

“Maybe he won’t miss it.”

My jaw nearly drops. “Are you suggesting we rob him?”

“Actually it was Callum’s suggestion.”

“What is wrong with you two? I’m helping someone and you’re suggesting I rob him while I’m at it?”

“We need the money.”

“Doesn’t mean we take money from someone else. And what the hell is wrong with that kid to suggest that? Didn’t our parents raise him better than that?”

Pike shrugs. “We’ll find out at the teacher meeting.”

“Everything okay?” comes Sverige’s deep voice as he turns the corner, staring at us openly.

“Fine,” I say quickly, glaring at Pike and his audacity before whirling around to hand Sverige his wallet. “Here you go. I was only holding onto it as collateral. In case you turned out to be a psychopath or something.”

He takes the wallet from me, our fingers brushing against each other for a second that seemed extra-long and drawn out in my head.

Yeesh.

“It’s all in there,” I tell him, nodding at it.

He holds it in his hands for a moment before he says, “I trust you” and slips it into his jacket pocket.

“We better go,” I say, eyeing Pike to step out of the way.

“Are you going to get changed or drive him in that robe?” Pike asks.

I sigh. “Hold on. Stay there. Pike, be nice.”

I turn and run into the room and pull on pajama pants and a sweater in seconds flat, returning to the hall to see them both where I left them, staring at each other awkwardly.

Pike looks at me. “Any idea where April is anyway?”

I shake my head with a groan. This isn’t the first time April hasn’t come home but even so, we’re going to have to find her soon. “Have you texted her?”

“Of course,” he says. “Called her too. No answer. And the messages are getting delivered.”

“She’s probably sleeping,” I say. And I hate that I think I know where.

I head down the stairs with the foreigner right behind me, his footsteps surprisingly light on the steps. Now that he’s up and about, not drugged, not naked, he moves with a regal kind of elegance. His body seems to glide effortlessly through the space in front of it with a kind of confidence I can only dream of.

I bet he’s a fantastic lay, the thought flits through my head. I don’t bat it away.

“Nice house,” he says as we head down the hall toward the kitchen. I glance at him over my shoulder to see him looking over the walls, the crooked paintings, the old photos in broken frames.

“It’s really not,” I tell him, hoping if we move fast enough past the kitchen no one will stop us.

No luck.

“Hey,” Callum practically yells at us as I pass by the kitchen and the foreigner decides to stop in the doorway and peer inside at the scene.

“Callum, be polite,” I warn, trying to glare at him over the guy’s massive frame and failing miserably, even on my tip toes.

The guy moves over so it’s the both of us in the doorway now and Callum, Thyme and Rosemary are sitting around the kitchen table with bowls of No Name Flakes of Corn. Callum is holding the container of sugar like a weapon, poised over the cereal and ready to let loose.

“What’s your name?” Callum asks him, ignoring me.

“It’s Mr. Sverige and I’m afraid we have to go,” I get in quickly. “Thyme, don’t let him put that sugar in his cereal, do you understand?” I place my hand gently on Sverige’s bicep. It’s hard. So hard. “It’s a trap. We should go.”

“A trap?” he asks, glancing down at me and there’s such intimate curiosity in his eyes that I suddenly feel hot under my skin, realizing the two of us are standing rather close to each other, and I’m touching him.

I have trouble swallowing, my eyes focused on his lips. “Yeah,” I say softly, knowing I should take my hand away.

“She thinks we’re going to say something embarrassing,” Thyme says, almost proudly. It’s enough to tear my eyes away from him and fix them on her, warning. My hand drops to my side.

“She’ll have an aneurysm,” Callum adds, and I know I have to get this guy out of here before my brother starts talking about the other words he learned.

“Come on,” I tell him, nodding down the hall.

“Okay, Miss America,” he says and I’m both flattered and confused by the nickname. “Very nice to meet you all,” he says to them in his polished voice. “I bid thee farewell.”

I give him an odd look at that one and as we continue down the hall I can hear Rosemary repeat to the others, mimicking his accent, “I bid thee farewell?”

“So, where are you from again?” I ask him as we head out to the minivan. I don’t think he ever told me.

“I thought you knew,” he says and stops in front of the van. “Is this your vehicle?”

I can’t tell if he’s being judgey or not, his damn poise and accent are making it difficult, as well as the fact that he said vehicle instead of car. “Yes, get in, your highness.”

His face goes white. He blinks at me. Is he having a seizure? The drugs kicking in again?

“Are you okay?” I ask.

He nods slowly, goes around to the side of the van and opens the passenger door.

“Why did you call me that?” he asks evenly as he sits down.

I shrug as I get in my seat and buckle up. “Because you looked like you were judging my ride, just as you were probably judging my house.”

“Your ride?” He frowns at me. “I would never do that. I wasn’t judging. I was interested in your house, that’s all. I like it. It’s charming. It’s got life.”

He’s so sincere I can’t help but believe him.

Good lord, he’s so gorgeous and yet so, so odd.

“Okay, good.” I sigh, turn the key and the van gives a bit of a cough and rumble before it purrs to life. “Sorry. I get defensive sometimes.”

He presses his lips together, frowning. Those eyes of his skirt over every inch of my face, studying me. My stomach does a backflip. I can’t remember the last time a man–hell, anyone–looked at me this way. “You know, it was really nice of you to do what you did,” he finally says.